The Gift of Loving-Kindness

By Ozmo Piedmont Guadalajara, Mexico Even as a mother protects with her life Her child, her only child, So with a boundless heart Should one cherish all living beings; Radiating kindness over the entire world. The Buddha on loving-kindness from the Metta Sutta (Salzberg) I live in Guadalajara, Mexico. Through my regular correspondence with my teacher Rev. Master Meiten in Victoria, Canada, and my studies of the teachings of our founder Rev. Master Jiyu-Kennett, I learned of a special place called Shasta Abbey, a place where one can experience the integration of the Buddhas teachings into daily life. From the first moment I heard of Shasta Abbey in Northern California, and viewing pictures of its mountains, monks, meditation rooms, and mid-day meals, I knew one day I would visit there. It took me three years to realize that dream, gathering the funds, changing jobs, arranging schedules, and making the reservations. But the day finally arrived when I entered the Abbey for a seven day beginners meditation retreat. I was filled with gratitude. Here were people living their spiritual ideals, caring for us with gentle respect, exemplified by their continual use of a reverential bow, called gassho, when greeting, passing food to one another at mealtime, entering and leaving a room, during ceremonial, before and after meditation, and upon passing altars and sacred images. Through this simple gesture, I learned the meaning of loving-kindness. Sharon Salzburg, in her book Loving-Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness, instructs readers on the meaning and practice of metta, from Pali, the Buddhas language, meaning loving-kindness. She writes: The Pali word metta has two meanings. One is the word for gentle. Metta is likened to a gentle rain that falls upon the earthThe other root meaning for metta is friend.(p. 30) When we treat the world with loving kindness, we become gentle friends, true friends helping, protecting and caring for each other, a refuge when we are afraid. My own fear began to emerge as I considered my father - now in his eighties, diagnosed with Alzheimers disease. He had recently suffered a collapse and hospitalization. My family and I, troubled by his declining health, were deeply concerned for his welfare. This prompted me to ask a monk during the retreat how I could comfort those facing the fear and worry of immanent death. He replied, Find that place of stillness and fearlessness in yourself. Then you can be with another, and assure them that there is nothing to fear. These words continued to penetrate my heart as the retreat progressed. I was searching for that peace and calm, seeking the courage to face the unknown.

About midway through the retreat, I volunteered to switch my sleeping accommodations from the comfortable guesthouse to the floor of the meditation hall where everyone meditated several times a day in front of an enormous statue of the Buddha, surrounded by paintings of bodhisattvas and benevolent beings. There was a sick participant who needed the warmth, comfort and care the guesthouse could bring. I considered it a blessing to be both able to help someone in need by giving him my bed, as well as the opportunity to sleep every night at the feet of the Buddha. In a sense, I felt He was keeping vigil over me while I slept, while I kept vigil for another in his time of need. My responsibility included bringing him food at mealtime. I would knock gently at his door, smile, hand him his meal, inquire about his health, and then leave him with a gassho and a wish for his speedy recovery. At times I thought how ironic it was. We are all suffering, as the Buddha pointed out, and we are all searching for the cure. We are all both the patient care givers as well as the patients needing care. This samsaric world of impermanence cannot be our refuge. Through spiritual practice, we can overcome our existential sickness, our mental suffering of attachment, and find the path to peace. The retreat continued to unfold as I worked in the garden beside the monks and other participants. I had the opportunity to put into practice lovingkindness throughout the day. The clean-up after meals, the sweeping of the floors, and the washing of walls, all became a meditation of joy and communal participation. The monks were the perfect example of this, guiding us with tender words, gentle reminders, and modeling serenity at work. By the night of the fifth day, however, my heart had become burdened and heavy with the anticipation of seeing my father for the first time since his diagnosis. In the candlelit darkness, as I prepared for bed before the Buddha, with the image of Kanzeon, the mother of compassion, to his left, I prayed for guidance: Please show me the path to serenity. Teach me what I need to know to be of service. Let me be thy hand of comfort. I closed my eyes and lay down to sleep. I awoke the morning of the sixth day with an unexplained lightness of heart. We went through the morning meditations and began our work day. Everything seemed to have a gentle flow to it, a naturalness that was somehow without strain. I swept the dust from the outside walls of the temple, imagining I was sweeping the dust from the temple of my heart. I picked the weeds in the garden, basking in the sunshine as we worked together, and stepping back every now and then to admire the array of color and texture that danced before our eyes. How beautiful, I thought, This is so perfect, these people, this place, this rhythm of life. Maybe just doing this, loving every moment and every person, just doing what is here, just cherishing each other, and opening ourselves to peace, is all we can do. I watched the people working at my side in silence. One in particular seemed to be so at peace. She was tall and ethereal, somewhat like a fairy princess. Gently she moved through the garden, cleaning, arranging, and pulling the weeds by my side. I wondered who she was. We had not talked during the whole retreat, maintaining the rule of silence so as to still our minds and look within. I wondered what had brought her here. Had she found what she was seeking, had she found her refuge? What would she bring away?

Later at lunch, I found myself sitting across from her. The meal progressed in silence, each dish passing from one to another with a reverent gassho. How cherished I felt as people handed me the food with a loving smile and a gentle gesture of reverence. I thought, Oh what a treasure they are. These apparent strangers have slipped into my heart with their kindness. Though we have spoken little during the week, I feel as if I have known them as longtime friends. I feel cherished by them. We finished the meal and awaited the final signal from a monk to arise. The room had become very still. The sun streamed above us through the windows down upon the table. I looked up and could see Mount Shasta in the background keeping vigil over us. At that moment, the fairy princess before me reached into her pocket and took out a small gold wrapped piece of chocolate, placing it gently on the table before me. Who was this for? I wondered. I looked into her eyes. She smiled as if saying, Why, its for you, of course. I suddenly felt like a five year old child as I shyly reached across the table and grasped this simple offering, slipping it into my shirt pocket. I winked to acknowledge her kindness, and she bowed to me in gassho. As we stood up to leave, I thought, What a kind gesture. Though I didnt know her, had never spoken to her, and though she sought nothing from me, had no reason to do what she did, she had offered me this gift. I supposed she thought I needed a little cheering up, and did what was natural to do, as a mother would do for her child. I felt my own innocence open, accepting this kindness with appreciation, and wondering at its simplicity. On the path back to the meditation hall, I unwrapped the gold covered chocolate, letting its gentle sweetness melt into my mouth. I continued to contemplate this act of kindness, letting its lesson melt into my heart, as my heart melted into the Divine. I lay down on my mattress for an afternoon rest and looked up at the face of Buddha, then at the face of Kanzeon. The pure simplicity of this gift of kindness continued to penetrate my heart. I closed my eyes and envisioned the hand of Kanzeon opening to me, giving me what I had so needed, this gift of loving-kindness. I began to sense tears flowing from my eyes, falling on the pillow. I realized I was weeping with joy. I lay there several minutes, feeling these tears wash and cleanse my heart, melting little self away. Aha, I thought, this is Buddha nature showing itself. This is what Kanzeon is all about. I felt as if I were in a loving embrace, as a child held closely to his mothers heart, her arms around me. I realized these acts of kindness are manifestations of the Bodhisattva, Kanzeon. She gives without expectation from the heart. The purity of truth in this simple gesture is the healing essence of giving. I thanked Kanzeon for this gift and knew the next step on the path I would take. I flew to Kansas City some days later to meet my parents. I brought my mother a white Mexican hand painted shawl from Guadalajara. I gently wrapped it around her shoulders as I embraced her. She glowed with appreciation. I smiled, knowing she would wear it the first chance she got to Sunday church, beaming with pride for her son who had brought this gift from far so far away. In the following days, I would watch her care for my father, feeding, clothing, and protecting him. I would see the best of her as a human being, a woman of tremendous capacity and strength to do what is needed for a loved one, in spite of the discomfort, worry, and stress this caused her. As

my fathers primary caretaker, she embodied dedication and unconditional love. I then turned to my father. There he was, weakened by this illness. Would he recognize me? I wondered. I wrapped my arms around him, and hugged him. He seemed a bit disoriented at first, but looked into my eyes, smiled, and said my name. We sat down together for awhile. Here was the man who had been the pillar of his community, the great lawyer who had fought his battles in court, earning his reputation, respected by many. Yet here was now the man, the body weak, struggling for words, hands trembling. Later at breakfast he spilled coffee on his lap. Oh God, he blurted out, looking up to heaven, imploring some kind of divine intervention that would give him the patience to go on, fighting to maintain the last remnant of his dignity. This disease had taken his work, his pride, his strength and power. It was all he could do now to raise a cup and drink. I reached over and steadied his hand. How the roles had changed. As a child had he steadied my hand, helping me eat and drink. Now I was holding his. We were together several days. I held him and touched him often. I would read to him from a colorful book of art, and he would delicately touch the back of my hand with his. The arguments and confrontations of the past were no longer relevant. In their place we now could just be with one another, share in the silence, a knowingness of well-being, of gratitude, of life. You will spoil me, he said one day, as we walked arm in arm. Of course, I replied, you deserve it. Dont we all? Dont we all deserve to feel cherished, loved, and honored? Isnt that what we truly want, to feel an unconditional cherishing that can only come from the heart, our Buddha Nature? This was the healing gift, for him and me. We could just love each other. That is all we really have. The body falls away. The illusions of power and control likewise fade. What remains is love, without pretense, expectation, or judgment. When I said goodbye, he was seated beside my mother in the front seat of their car. I leaned across the head rest and kissed my mother on her cheek. Then I turned to my father. Beaming, he reached over to me, puckered his lips with all his heart, and kissed my cheek. I looked into his eyes. Goodbye, I said. We never know the impact that loving-kindness can bring. In the midst of our human condition, our physical frailties and discomforts, we discover blessings. We come to see the true face of those we love: my mothers caring devotion, my fathers tender appreciation, and a strangers offering of concern. Lovingkindness reached across the table one day, offering me a piece of chocolate. Loving-kindness wrapped my mother in a shawl of warmth, steadied my fathers hand, and kissed my cheek goodbye. This is what we give each other. These simple gestures express the Eternal and become our refuge. What is given away, and returns, is the radiant gift of love. May all beings be well, happy and peaceful. May all beings be free from pain and sorrow. May all beings have continuous good fortune. May all beings accept all things as they truly are.

Works cited: Salzberg, Sharon. Loving-Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. Shambala: Boston and London, 2008.